


Like Real People Do

by hannibae



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Hannibal, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5896669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibae/pseuds/hannibae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal has lived many lives, been many men, and by far, this is his favorite. So on those days when Will is stuck in his thoughts, can’t find his way back to Hannibal, he waits patiently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Real People Do

Together, they reside in the darkness. Hannibal forgets that Will pulled him over the bluff. Some days, it feels like he went over alone.

His biggest fear is having created Will Graham as only a figment of his imagination. One day he’ll wake up, and he won’t be there any longer. Hannibal will find traces of him, pages of words scribbled down in a sloppy scrawl that later he’ll recognize as a crude interpretation of his own.

It’s incorrect, even a little rude, to be thinking of Will in that way, he knows, but sometimes he can’t help it. Sometimes, he’s so far into his own head that Hannibal can’t even begin to dig him out, and he forgets he isn’t by himself.

Hannibal has lived many lives, been many men, and by far, this is his favorite. So on those days when Will is stuck in his thoughts, can’t find his way back to Hannibal, he waits patiently. Eventually, after a few mugs of tea Hannibal slips to him, watches him drink subconsciously, he starts worming his way out, little flickers of the real Will shining through the haze.

When his Will is back with him, he tends to be a little more desperate for contact with Hannibal than usual. It’s as though he finally remembers who he really is, gets all of those other memories that were never his own out of his head and realizes the little bits of his actual self, and the physicality of being with Hannibal grounds him. It’s hard to escape the person you are when you’re too busy focusing on fucking the entirety of the English language out of the man you love, Hannibal would think.

Today, it’s been slightly different for Will. The thoughts he gets lost in don’t sit well with him, and Hannibal watches the snarl on his face relax as the day goes by, fall into something a lot less harsh, but still not exactly how the lines usually sit. Hannibal avoids him for just a while, stays in the den and plays the piano for a few hours until Will comes find him.

“Hannibal,” he says, sounding slightly irritated. When he doesn’t look up, Will makes a sound in the back of his throat and walks closer, slams his hand down on the top of the piano. “ _Hannibal_!”

All he does is raise an eyebrow, cock his head slightly. When he looks at Will, the anger is prevalent. Tension rolls off of Will in waves, and Hannibal feels himself prickle. “That was terribly rude, Will,” he admonishes.

“Stand up,” Will tells him, biting the words out. “Now.”

Wondering how far this is going to go, Hannibal stands, right in front of Will. They almost touch, close enough for Hannibal to feel Will’s breath on him, hot and damp, coming out of him roughly. “If you’re going to touch me, I’d prefer we didn’t do it here, if you wouldn’t mind,” he says, and Will nods harshly.

“Go to the bedroom, then. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hannibal smirks. “As you wish.”

He’s accustomed to this, found a way to use it to his advantage. By the end of the day, Will is going to be fine, his tremors will fade and he’s going to be pliant and soft under Hannibal’s hands. They’ll be able to speak like adults, Will confessing in a soft tone that he’s sorry, that he shouldn’t have been so rough, so demanding. Hannibal will end his day with Will’s mouth wrapped around his cock, his eyes wide and bright and looking right at Hannibal as he swallows him down. It’ll be Will’s apology, soft and wet and absolutely divine.

For now, he clenches his jaw and shivers as he unbuttons his shirt, back turned to the door. He knows Will is watching him remove his watch, unbutton his pants, knows to put on the show Will is waiting on. “Would you prefer me undress myself, or would you like to do that part tonight?” he asks, smirk tugging at his lips.

Will makes a sound, and when Hannibal looks at him, he’s palming at his erection through his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, watching him through heavy lidded eyes. Will licks his lips and nods at him, says, “Put on a good show for me, yeah?”

Hannibal nods in understanding, slipping his fingers into the waistband of his pants and sliding them down. He steps out of them, turns to toss them into the laundry hamper. While he undresses, he ignores Will, acts as though he isn’t there because he knows that’s what he wants at this point. It’s the heat of it, the predatory aspects of Will being the one to tell Hannibal what to do, how to do it, how long to take. It’s a game, and one that Hannibal knows how to play all too well.

He is by no means going to strip for Will, not sleazy and choreographed, but he takes his time with peeling his clothes off himself. His shirt hangs open, sleeves still buttoned, and Will makes a throaty sound when he goes to unbutton those, fingers working fluidly. Not once does he stutter, knowing full well what’s expected of him. The shirt lands with a soft sound onto the floor, and he bends to pick it up.

When he’s down to just his boxer-briefs, Will huffs, “Stop.” Hannibal looks up at him, thumbs already hooked into the elastic. He smiles darkly, watching Will stroking himself, hand in his pants now.

Sometimes Will undresses him; other times, he prefers to watch Hannibal do it himself. More often than not, he’s stopped when he gets to this point, so his stomach flutters involuntarily when Will walks over. Watching Will unravel is always Hannibal’s favorite part of this, other than feeling his hands on him, the bites and bruises that litter his body when they’re all said and done. He absolutely loves watching the fear and turmoil fade from Will’s eyes and turn into heat, into hunger—loves feeling the desperation at the tips of Will’s fingers when he digs them into Hannibal’s hips.

Tonight they’re already bruising, pressing hard and rough into his skin as Will gets on his toes to catch Hannibal’s lips in a biting kiss. He tastes like filth and feels like fire licking at Hannibal’s skin.

Every touch has him arching into it, already so ready for this, a loss of control that only Will can drag out of him. His cock is hard, obscene in the small, tight cloth barely covering him, and he groans throatily when Will grinds their hips together. Will fucks Hannibal to gain back control of himself, and Hannibal lets Will fuck him because of the control he gets to lose when he does.

“Gonna have you begging for me tonight,” Will promises.

“What do you plan on making me beg for?” His throat is tight, body drawn taught at the timber of Will’s voice, thick and dark and curling heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Will presses a smile into Hannibal’s neck, teeth sinking in for just a second. “Whatever I want,” he gets told, Will’s thumbs catching onto the band of his underwear, tugging them down until Hannibal can step out of them.

He doesn’t catch where they get tossed, instead focusing on the way Will pulls him closer, hands biting into his hips, mouth catching his again. The kiss is sloppy, all teeth and tongue and Hannibal couldn’t care less, leaning into the feeling of it, reveling in the taste of Will’s desperation.

One of Will’s favored things when he’s in this headspace is to draw things out, touch as much of Hannibal as possible until the begging Will is so tastelessly demanding from him is on the tip of his tongue. More often than not, Hannibal has to fight back the words, stuff them down and let them pool in the center of his chest, rumble out of him in moans and groans. He suspects Will can read between the lines, but it saves him the embarrassment of hearing those words come out of his mouth.

Never before has a lover been able to make him fall apart like this, lose himself in the feeling of the other person touching, grabbing, pulling. But Will sinks his teeth into him, gets his nails buried into his skin, tears his hair from his scalp, and Hannibal has to swallow down the desperate sounds. He’s never been fucked like this, never found someone who could match him pace for pace in the roughness, could be as brutal as he is in and out of bed, but here is Will Graham, sinking his perfect mouth down around Hannibal’s cock and sliding all the gears into place.

“ _Oh_ ,” Hannibal groans, head falling back as his fingers twine into Will’s hair. He tugs, just once, hard enough to earn a throaty moan that vibrates up through his whole body, ignites his nerve-endings until he’s panting harshly.

The sounds are filthy, over-the-top slurping noises that have his hips working themselves in little circles, trying to get his cock deeper down Will’s throat. What he can’t fit in his mouth, Will has his hand wrapped around, and spit is dribbling down the length of him, slicking the way until all Hannibal feels is wet, hot pressure all the way down. His vision blurs for just a moment, and he forgot how good Will is at sucking cock until this very second.

He treats it like an art, takes Hannibal almost all the way down and swallows around him once, twice, three times before he’s pulling off and slicking his hand down him instead. He jerks Hannibal off with a slow pace, and says, “I love watching you fall apart. I love being the one to tear you open.”

“You’ve always wanted to see me ripped to pieces, haven’t you?” Hannibal asks, bites at his lip when Will leans forward to lick at him with a smile. Will sinks down one final time, sucking hard as he’s pulling off, smile still tugging at the corners of his eyes. He’s happy to see him back, segments of the real Will slipping through the veil.

Will rises to his feet, and as soon as he’s steady, he shoves Hannibal back. His hands come to Hannibal’s shoulders, and he’s being turned, forced to face the wall, hands coming up instinctively to catch himself before he smashes into it.

“Stay right here.” And the warmth of Will’s hands is gone, so Hannibal stays in place, does as he’s told before Will gets the idea to do something out of Hannibal’s comfort zone.

When he comes back, it’s with a subtly sweet smell surrounding him, one that Hannibal recognizes as the lube they keep stashed in the bedside table. There’s no preamble—Will is done drawing this out for now—and he’s sliding two fingers into Hannibal, slick and warm. He has to breathe through it, suck in a gasp and swallow it down when Will hurries through it, doesn’t allow him any time to adjust before he’s pulling them back out roughly.

“Slut,” he accuses, and sinks his teeth into Hannibal as he’s fucking his fingers back into the heat of him, crooking them up and searching. Hannibal isn’t sure he even knows what he’s saying by this point, more words flowing out of him while he works Hannibal over, fingers spreading and twisting, brushing his sweet spot every so often.

He’s hard, cock pressed to his stomach, sensitive head rubbing against the rough wall. Only barely, he hangs on to the sounds trying desperately to leave his throat, but Will catches on to what he’s doing. His hand comes down over Hannibal’s ass, hot and hard, and just a warning.

“Uh-uh,” Will says, rough and right in Hannibal’s head. “Don’t even think about trying to be _poised_ during this, Hannibal.”

Hannibal almost laughs, but knows better than to insult Will in that way while he’s like this. “I’m willing to argue you’ll be able to reduce me to something incredibly far away from poised,” he admits, choking on his words when Will’s fingers press right against his prostate, make his hips jerk forward and his knees shake. “ _God_ , Will.”

“Which one of us are you praying to, Hannibal?” Will asks, and Hannibal’s head spins for just a second. A third finger slides in along the other two, just briefly, to make sure he’s open and slick enough for Will’s liking. “Me?” and the blunt head of his cock presses against him, hips working him open, “Or God?”

The stretch to accommodate Will aches deliciously as he’s given no time to adjust; instead, he’s filled in seconds, body arching against the intensity of it. Will makes a broken sound in his ear, catches his breath before starting to pull out.

Hannibal whines low in his chest, drops his head, and spreads his legs wider for more. It’s so good like this, heat licking down his spine and settling low in his stomach at the feeling of being so full. His thrusts are deep and hard, hips slapping against Hannibal’s ass obscenely. There’s not nearly enough lube for the bite of pain not to be there, but it just spurs him on. It’s perfect, just like this, with the throb and pull, the sparks of pleasure every time he fucks back into him.

“I asked you a question,” Will reminds him, mouthing at any bit of skin he can get at.

“You,” Hannibal pants, sobbing when Will bites him hard, pain stinging through him and tangling with the feeling of Will’s cock pounding against his prostate. “I have no need for a god.”

“No,” Will agrees, laughter dancing in his voice. “You really don’t, do you?”

Hannibal’s laughing now; it’s falling out of him in waves, little chuckles that leave him shaking against Will. They fall apart into moans at the end, fray into sounds close to a desperation he can taste in the back of his throat.

Finally, Will reminds him, “Come on, I made you a promise earlier,” and slows his pace, thrusts just as deep, just as hard, just as deep, but slow and teasing to the point of madness.

He was waiting for it, the nudge back into the direction Will had this going the whole time. Little by little, he’s falling apart underneath him, struggling to keep his composure at the sweet feeling of Will’s cock pressing against all the right spots inside him. His cock is drooling against his skin, the thick smell of arousal overpowering the room. Will’s hair is sweaty, curls brushing against Hannibal’s neck as he sucks a deep bruise to his skin.

Everything has him panting, arching back against Will, working his hips back, and suddenly he’s seconds away from coming. In an act of pure evil, Will pulls out, and Hannibal groans.

“Do it,” Will tells him roughly, sliding the slick head of his cock between Hannibal’s cheeks in a taunt.

He tries pressing back, but Will pulls farther back, chuckles in Hannibal’s ear.

Hannibal lets out a shaky breath, eyes slipping shut, and his mouth opens around a groan. He barely hears himself when he chokes out, “Please.”

Will groans, immediately presses back into him, _fucking_ into him, shaky hands digging into his skin. One of those hands comes around to wrap around the base of Hannibal’s cock, and he lets out a thick moan.

“Please,” he says again, louder this time, just as shaky, but he sounds desperate in his own head, wanton and breathless. Will’s teeth sink into him again, right over the bruise he put there earlier. “ _Fuck_ ,” Hannibal slips, coming with a gasp.

Will’s pace stutters, body tenses, and he lets out a thick moan as his orgasm follows suit.

They stay like that for just a moment, panting against each other. Hannibal is slick and sweaty, face falling into the shape of distaste as Will pulls out as gently as he can. He feels the uncomfortable feeling of come dripping down the inside of his thigh, feels it sticky and drying on his stomach, though most of his landed on the wall and floor.

“Ew,” Will says behind him, and Hannibal smiles.

“Grab me a washcloth?” he asks, turning to catch Will’s mouth with his own briefly.

Will melts into the kiss, and Hannibal is instantly sure Will successfully managed to get out of his head. He knows, of course, that it isn’t as simple as he’s putting it. But, for the sake of their situation, this is what he’ll allow Will to have. If this helps, in any way, to ease Will’s mind of the worries and fears he has to this life they have to live, then Hannibal will allow it to be this simple for a while.

They pull apart, and Will is softer, eyes more sure, and Hannibal will talk to him later tonight, once he’s absolutely certain there’s no chances of him slipping back into whatever darkness he threw himself into today.

Because the thing about falling over the bluff with Will Graham is that it was not the first bluff Will has thrown himself over. There are daily bluffs, memories and crime scenes playing through his mind like home videos. Now they’re here, together, in this existence that Hannibal knows is a difficult one for Will to be in.

They have to survive, because they chose to in the end.

They’re doing the best they know how to, and Hannibal isn’t really alone. Will never really leaves him, he just gets lost and Hannibal has to bring him back to that edge they once stood on together. He’s got to let Will make his decision again, let him get his hands on Hannibal and feel the life coursing under his skin. He has to let Will make the decision of whether or not to pull them over that bluff again.

He does.

Every single time, he does, and Hannibal knows he’ll never be alone again.


End file.
